


Sweet Wines and Lost Minds

by SteeleStingray



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Barca Lives, Completely Gratuitous, Drunk Sex, Filthy talk, Fluff and Smut, Friends just...making out, It is canon now, Jealousy, M/M, Mostly Smut, No big deal, No shame, Pietros Lives, Possessive Behavior, Sex, but like minimal jealousy, everyone is drunk, nasir and pietros are hella drunk and get kissy, nothing more than that haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:38:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleStingray/pseuds/SteeleStingray
Summary: Spartacus has arranged for wine to be brought to the Rebel temple in hopes of fostering friendships in their group. But it also causes Agron and Barca to neglect their lovers in favor of friendly scuffles.Pietros and Nasir must take their desire into their own hands...





	Sweet Wines and Lost Minds

**Author's Note:**

> Took a quick break from my other stories to write this one shot. This comes solely from my desire to curse the show for not letting Pietros and Barca live. Pietros and Nasir would be best buddies and I 100% believe that they would get drunk together and kiss.  
> So really this whole story is just for my own benefit but I'll be pleased if anyone else enjoys it as well haha!

**Sweet Wines and Lost Minds**

Spartacus had never been fond of wine.

Agron and Pietros—and countless others who had escaped from the ludus, for that matter—had spoken often of how even during the wild celebrations following victory in the arena, Spartacus never took more than a cup of wine for celebration. He had seemed perfectly content to sit to the side and watch others make merry with quiet, attentive eyes.

So it was quite the surprise when Agron returned after hours missing from their ramshackle temple bearing a cart laden with familiar amphora and said that it all had been done on Spartacus’ command.

Nasir and Naevia, by virtue of being former honored body slaves, had been given the task of unloading and properly storing their precious cargo.

All of the former house slaves and ludus slaves, like Pietros and Mira, with their light hands and possession of any measure of self-control helped them carry the jugs to the cool, dark storage rooms under the temple. Nasir and Naevia looked over their bounty when the cart had been unloaded; it seemed enough alcohol to give each man, woman, and child in their company two full jugs each.

Nasir had broken the seal on one of them and dipped his smallest finger into the dark red contents. One quick taste and he looked to Naevia in alarm.

“Well?” She asked, brown eyes wider than usual.

Her voice, low and sweet and lovely, had the same tones as the wine and Nasir knew beyond the shadow of a doubt what was going to happen. He looked to her and gave a smile of disbelief.

“We are fucked.”

The sun set and Nasir’s prediction came true in more ways than he realized.

Everyone was absolutely uninhibited from the sweetest wine Romans saved for parties and special occasions. Men fought and drank and danced in turns, couples wandered off to private corners to divest themselves of their threadbare garments and find comfort in the bare skin of their partners.

Gannicus laughed into a woman’s bare belly as he carved a chunk of meat from a roasting boar he had killed earlier in the day. Wine and women always put him in good humor.

Crixus would move to his brethren, to share a drink or a joke—on occasion warning one or two of them to put their cocks out of sight—before returning to the dark, private corner Naevia had taken as her own, away from prying eyes. And then Crixus would pull her on his lap and lay kisses on her bare shoulder as she nursed her small cup.

Spartacus was with Mira and Oenomaus, the three of them tilting slightly as they spoke and admired the cunning plan to clad partnerships in steel and wine.

Saxa knocked a Gaul to the dirt with one practiced punch and then kissed him on his bleeding lips. Lugo, Donar, and his Agron laughed with red cheeks as Nemetes glowered at the display. He would not speak against her though; Nemetes had better chances of wrangling the wind than having Saxa bend to his will.

Even Nasir had seen fit to dip his small cup in the bounty and have a drink…that rapidly turned to two, then four, then eight, then he could not even remember his own name, much less count. It was hardly his fault that the wine was almost as sweet as a lover’s kiss. _Almost_. He leaned hard against a pillar, Agron’s cloak slipping low on his shoulders, his cup held by naught more than his fingertips, and watched in a wine-warm haze as the people he loved lost themselves in rare joy.

The fire danced in time to ribald songs and even the moon glowed bright and fat, as if the gods themselves found favor in their celebrations.

He was so relaxed that he merely jolted as a set of arms wrapped around his waist and a face settled in the soft crook of his neck. Only two men in the camp would take such liberties with him. In a movement that seemed far too slow, Nasir turned his head and met the kind, dark gaze of his dear friend Pietros.

Pietros was a few inches taller than Nasir with graceful long legs, his skin dark, smooth and warm as fine wood, and had thick hair that corkscrewed in soft puffs from his head. And he smiled constantly, always in good humor as opposed to his stoic lover.

“Nasir…” He slurred, burying his face into Nasir’s dark hair with a giggle of drunkenness.

Though not so fair of face as Nasir—according to Agron—Pietros was still young and attractive and had the sweetest temper of all the rebels; such a title could never be bestowed on Nasir as his first choice as freeman was to try and kill Spartacus. Reasonably proficient with a spear, Pietros’ personality was not suited to taking life and he was in training to be the next rebel _medicus_.

With his free hand, Nasir stroked Pietros’ wild, fuzzy curls and Pietros leaned even deeper, his breath hot upon the skin of Nasir’s neck.

Nasir laughed then, humor coming to him as easily as breath. “Pietros, you lose yourself to the bottom of a cup.” His own words were so stained with wine, he had no place for judgment.

“My fool of a lover forsakes my company for wild brawls.” Pietros responded with a pout of his bottom lip. “So I have abandoned hopes of his attentions for the sweet balm of wine.”

“Then we are of like mind on the subject.”

Pietros did not hear the joking tone in Nasir’s voice and wilted into Nasir’s shoulder. “Do…you think he finds disfavor in me? Barca? Now that I am not the only lovely boy in our company…”

Nasir’s voice was unerringly gentle. “You speak foolishness, Pietros. Only a blind man would not see the way his eyes follow your form, the length of your legs. Only the deaf would not hear of his delight of you in the nights.”

“You find me of a form?” Pietros asked, obviously touched by any sort of sweet words bestowed on him.

In an indulgent mood, Nasir stroked the fine, dark cheek that was still smooth as a boy’s. “I find you sweeter than any wine.” He spoke the truth; not even Naevia could boast a disposition so sunny and gentle as Pietros when she had first held blade in her hand. And after the massacre in Batiatus’ villa, Pietros had cried for the sea of blood that had lapped at his ankles.

His caring soul was not made for battle and bloodshed.

“You flatter.” Pietros insisted, laying dark lips to Nasir’s bare shoulder. “When Agron worships you with his eyes and bold men whisper of stealing kisses from you.” From any other, the words would sting of jealousy but Pietros only spoke with a shy sort of pride for a treasured friend.

Nasir laughed a little at this, taking another drink of alcohol. “I pity the man who would try. At best such a man would find his throat at the tip of my blade; at worst Agron would bear witness.”

Pietros laughed too.

It was hard to say which of their lovers were stricken deeper with envy. Barca was fiercely protective of Pietros, hovering at his shoulder as a most fearsome guard, yanking Pietros to him at the slightest provocation. His reputation was enough that no man would dare press suit for fear of a quiet disappearance.

Agron was…louder in his methods.

Usually he was content to merely watch Nasir, but any perceived slight or show of affection had him stalking over with a face like thunder and a sword that slashed faster than sense and reason. He was the type to brawl openly until there was a physical intervention.

The thought of Agron, the thought of feverish kissing that would follow when he would retire for slumber had a prickling burn begin in Nasir’s hips and his lips. He ached to cross his legs but knew Pietros would take notice.

“They are both fools for leaving impatient lips wanting.” Pietros agreed in something like a pout. “Tell me, would Agron rob me of life if I were to lay kiss on beloved cheek?”

“From you? Never.” Nasir promised. “He regards you as treasured friend and a young man of…rare form.” Agron had made clear that favored no intimate company save Nasir’s but Agron’s talk of times before they had come to know one another had Nasir guessing that he might have taken cursory interest in Pietros before finding the boy otherwise claimed.

Without hesitation Pietros snapped his head up and pressed a warm kiss to Nasir’s cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his lip.

Such a simple gesture only exacerbated Nasir’s problem and before he could make rational thought, he turned to return the favor. His head lolled and he missed his mark, kissing Pietros squarely on his half-open mouth. His lips tasted of wine and Nasir moved back slowly, becoming drunk on the fumes.

Pietros gave a quick gasp as Nasir pulled back and Nasir laughed quietly at his sweet, confused expression. They were both too drunk, it was too warm and Nasir took another drink of his wine.

He was far gone enough that he smiled like a fool as Pietros cupped his cheeks. “I seek to amends for careless lovers.”

“I am of a mind.” Nasir slurred happily.

Lips met in a crash that seemed to belie inexperience.

Pietros’ mouth was warm and tasted of spices and sweet wine; he had always been weak to pleasure, made submissive by Barca’s firm, loving hands, and he was the first to part lips in welcome of Nasir’s tongue.

Agron had taught Nasir well.

Pietros made a small noise of satisfaction as Nasir’s clever mouth suckled his tongue and teeth clamped lightly onto his bottom lip. He tangled his fingers in Nasir’s long hair and pulled him closer, as if desperate that one of them should drink the other down. On unsteady feet they stumbled backwards until Pietros’ back hit the wall and Nasir felt his cup slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor.

 _A waste of fine wine_ , _but an even greater waste to leave sweet lips wanting._

Wine made breath come slowly and Nasir gasped for air as Pietros wrenched his bottom lips free of determined teeth. Those lips traced gentle lines down his chin before latching onto the throat, the death of Nasir’s control.

Pietros was not blind; indeed he was as perceptive as any well-trained house slave, and he had seen how Agron favored Nasir’s elegant neck. The young Syrian was delightfully sensitive there and shuddered under gentle ministrations.

It was soft bites at first, barely enough to bruise skin so dark, and slow circles with a sloppy tongue. But then Pietros began to suckle on old purple marks left by Agron—even in wine-addled haze, he was not fool enough to leave new ones on virgin skin as he was reasonably sure the gladiator smugly counted each one. Even so, Agron had chosen his spots well as Nasir wailed when the slightest bit of pressure was applied.

Nasir tossed back his head out of habit and his fingers dug deep into Pietros’ curls, fingernails lightly scratching the scalp as Barca was known to do. Pietros moved closer and nestled one of his long legs in between Nasir’s thighs, Nasir returning the favor a moment afterwards.

Nasir was unsure which one of them moved their hips first; it could have been Nasir placing his hand on Pietros’ chest, his smallest finger lightly outlining the dark nipple or it could have been Pietros pushing gently on the small of Nasir’s back…

In any case, soon they were moving against each other as skillfully as any dancers in Roman parties.

Nasir moved his hips in a circle, the way he did when he danced and wanted Agron to yank him out of the sands and into the shadows. Pietros bent his head down to pepper kisses over Nasir’s thundering heart and his curls tickled Nasir’s sensitive skin, causing his heart to palpitate. The arousal was light and sweet, an afterthought to the two of them relieving drunken heat with the safe lips of a friend.

They paused, breathlessly surveying each other: Nasir with his long hair falling out of his braid, Pietros with glazed, heavy-lidded eyes, the both of them with wet swollen lips. It was Pietros who laughed first.

The giggle at their foolish delight in each other became infectious and they gripped each other closer, Nasir giggling helplessly into Pietros’ collarbone, Pietros muffling his snickers into Nasir’s hair.

“The gods have made you so lovely, Nasir.” Pietros sighed when his laughter had subsided. “Will Agron smite me from this earth when he finds such a beauty has sought my company and not his?”

“Only if Barca hears from you that my lips are more clever than his.”

Pietros gasped and laughed at once, as if imagining Barca’s displeasure at such revelations. “Bold words,” his breath was hot and tickled Nasir’s ear, “for a rival so small in comparison.”

Nasir grinned at him, blessed by the fact that men had often used his height as a point to tease.

“I am large where it counts most.” He slurred.

Pietros laughed and slapped Nasir hard on the behind, and Nasir noticed his hand lingered. Such filthy talk…

As if hoping to clean away any further talk, Pietros pecked light kisses onto Nasir’s mouth, his hands still lightly rubbing Nasir’s ass. Nasir smiled at the chaste kisses, returning them in kind as his hands ran the length of Pietros’ fine back. He encountered the waistband of Pietros’ pants and slipped his hands in. Pietros jumped as Nasir cupped his backside and Nasir twisted his lips in the very slightest jealousy; Pietros’ ass was nicer than his.

They could have gone on for hours like this: exchanging kisses and lightly exploring each other with hands that would not dare to push too far. But Nasir felt a firm hand on the collar of his jacket and he was yanked from Pietros’ arms into ones that were larger and warmer and familiar. His cock, which had been only mildly interested when he kissed his friend, was now stiffening as he was practically engulfed by Agron.

Pietros too had been pulled from the wall and pressed up against the side of his lover. Barca’s rough, calloused hand had slipped into the place recently vacated by Nasir, only Barca went further. Pietros unsuccessfully muffled a whimper as Barca put his hand between Pietros’ ass cheeks and the longest finger swiftly pushed inside of him.

“Agron.” Nasir’s voice was thick with delight as he looked up to his beloved.

“You tempt fate little one.” Barca said in a lazy growl, moving his hand without care that others were watching; he had always been fond of staking claim in front of prying eyes. “Putting your pretty lips on what is mine.”

“You neglect wine-heated lover for battle.” Nasir smiled at him, knowing Barca would not harm him. “You can hardly cast blame for such tempting invitation…” Pietros blushed at his praise though it was he who put hands on Nasir first.

“A mistake not to be made again.” Agron did not look or sound angry; in fact he sounded heated himself. “I am of a mind to make amends.”

“As am I.” Barca swept Pietros off the ground easily. “If that pretty little man’s cock can sate you so, I intend to fill you to bursting.”

Pietros’ head lolled uselessly on his shoulders as he attempted to smile at Nasir one more time before he was taken to be devoured. The smile was interrupted by the addition of a second finger and he whimpered as a girl would, burying his face into Barca’s coiled hair. Barca’s smile was small and wicked at the sound of it.

His steps were quick and purposeful as he carried Pietros back to the little alcove they called their own.

Pietros’ was tossed back onto the bedding, his long limbs splaying open, too drunk to arrange himself pleasingly. Barca did not seem to mind, as he surveyed his lover silently, hands tugging on belts and cords that wrapped about his waist. So skilled he was at removing his garments that he did not even need to look down and the cloth slipped from his hips.

Out of instinct, Pietros moved backwards on his elbows, his feet pushing at the blankets in attempt to propel himself faster.

Barca was truly in a state.

His cock stretched upward towards his navel and his eyes were swallowing Pietros’ form in long laps. When he opened his mouth, his voice was in a rasp. “Come here, my Pietros. Do not turn from me.”

“Your eyes blaze as the pits of Tartarus,” Pietros slurred in return, hoping that it did not sound as a whine. Barca was gruff and brutal around prying eyes, yanking Pietros to him with a firm hand and laying teeth marks down on bare skin but in the bedroom, he had always been overtly gentle. Pietros wondered if tonight would be the night when Barca used all his strength to hold him down and love him until he couldn’t walk.

Barca smiled when Pietros did not obey and then lunged with the chilling speed of a gladiator.

Pietros shrieked as one large hand clamped around his ankle and hauled him backwards. Another hand yanked on the waistband of his trousers and ripped them down. Pietros had learned his lesson before and had taken to wearing baggy trousers that could be slipped off without ripping.

“Barca!” He gasped as his body was bared and left vulnerable.

Any other words died to insignificant moans as Barca slid his calloused hands up high on Pietros’ thighs and used his rough thumbs to pry apart thick flesh, revealing Pietros’ most private spot.

Pietros rocked his hips in lewd circles as a blunt finger rubbed him.

“It enflames me,” Barca began, “to think of those slender little Syrian fingers stroking you while his tongue gagged speech and thought.” His breath was hot as he suckled and bit the back of Pietros neck. “Speak truly: did you entertain fantasies of his tongue lapping you elsewhere? That pretty mouth wrapped around your dark cock? Pushing deep inside here?”

Pietros wailed into the blankets as the finger tickling him pushed inside, pressing expertly on the spot Pietros liked best.

Barca’s next words were drowned out in his ecstasy as Pietros made the noises Barca liked, the sounds that proved only Barca could give him such delight in the bedroom. Pietros felt the tendrils of his hair on the skin of his back, like gentle fingers caressing him as Barca planted kisses above his ass. His fingers worked without yield. It seemed drunkenness and battle moved Barca to passion that bordered on torture.

Pietros was painfully sensitive on the best of days and he felt his seed staining their blankets after only a few moments of lover’s touch.

“Barca! _Please!_ ” He arched his back, digging his toes into the cloth but Barca did not allow him to move. His large form pinned Pietros to the covers as a third finger pushed inside and Pietros came with a short scream.

Tears squeezed out of his eyes—tears of pleasure and exertion—as he shuddered from the aftershocks of highest pleasure and whimpered as Barca removed his clever fingers from inside.

Just as in battle, he allowed no quarter.

Pietros sensitive behind, so recently vacated, was swiftly filled his lover’s face. A hot tongue lashed out and Pietros’ felt his mind go blank. Barca did such things somewhat infrequently and his hands were firm on Pietros’ slim hips to hold them in place.

One hand clenched the fabric for dear life, the other gripped hard on the ropes of Barca’s hair, pushing the cruel tongue in deep. Barca’s mouth was just as his hands had been: lewd and rough.

Already so sensitive, Pietros spilled again in record time.

“Do you ever imagine,” Barca withdrew his tongue but kept his face pressed between Pietros’ buttocks so that his words trembled on Pietros’ skin up his spine, “sweet Syrian tongue lapping desire from your ass? His slim cock in your mouth?” His tone was teasing and light.

“H-How can I even _think_ of another?” Pietros wailed openmouthed into the rough homespun, “When your t-tongue chases all thought from mind!”

Barca shifted his weight, his tongue lapping sweat from Pietros’ feverish brow a moment later. “The gods would strike me down for a liar…if I were to say I had not.” Pietros gasped and laughed at the same time.

“Your balls swing to rival Jupiter’s,” Pietros tried to smack Barca’s bare ass but he was still somewhat limp and the angle was all wrong. His hit was barely a sting.

“Idle thoughts. Chased from mind by the flush of your skin.”

Barca kissed him before he could respond. Unlike his hands, his kisses were gentle and loving and made Pietros want to cry in his drunken haze. He felt adored by the gods—or, one god in any case, and freedom never tasted so sweet as in this exact moment.

As he continued to lay kisses, Barca reached expertly under their simple bedding for the precious vials they kept hidden away for the intimate parts of the night. Pietros felt the kisses deepen the moment Barca grasped what he had been searching for and he whimpered a little as he recalled what would occur next.

Barca pulled away to uncork the stopper and Pietros was surprised to smell something flowery instead of the normal scent of olives.

In every villa they liberated, Barca made sure to set aside some oil—quality oil, better than the cut stuff of the ludus that was almost as water and sometimes made Pietros wince from the friction. When Pietros had noticed the change in how smoothly Barca could enter him, Barca had merely shrugged as though it did not concern him and said that it felt pleasant enough so why not take it from undeserving fucks?

But this…this small bottle would have cost their former dominus more than Pietros himself.

And Barca, unattached to all but his cock, his freedom, and Pietros, drizzled a liberal amount of the precious oil over his cock. In drunken innocence, Pietros reached out to touch it, helping stroke the oil up and down his length. He smiled that his lover, normally smelling of salt and dirt and blood, smelled of flowers.

“You use too much.” He slurred. “You waste it.”

“My cock is of a size to deserve such amounts.” Barca replied, his eyes rolling back in his head as Pietros touched him with gentle hands.

Pietros would have been content to stay just like this: a wild beast, a god gentled by his hand and none other. It would not last and Pietros was not surprised when Barca moved suddenly, flipping Pietros onto his stomach. Thumbs slick with oil pulled Pietros apart and Barca gave a hum of deep appreciation.

“Hold on tight Pietros.” He ordered, the hot tip of him pressed hard to Pietros’ ass. It was so close to breaching that Pietros trembled and wiggled his hips. Barca held his hips steady with one large hand and Pietros clenched whatever was in front of him and took a deep breath.

With one firm push and a sharp cry from Pietros, Barca slid inside of him.

No amount of preparing could ever get Pietros accustomed to the size and length of his lover and it seemed Barca was of a like mind as he cursed lovingly under his breath.

“ _Fuck_. One might think you a virgin so tight as you grip cock!”

Pietros could not come up with an adequate reply and only squealed openmouthed as Barca began to move. Normally gentle unless under the gaze of a wayward rebel, this evening he set a bruising pace, his hips snapping tight against Pietros’ ass, the oil making lewd noises as he moved.

Barca’s thick arms looped across his chest and pulled Pietros closer. Barca was in to the hilt and yet still tried to get closer.

Sweat drops littered Pietros’ back like kisses, oil and sweat tickling down his long legs. Barca moved one hand from Pietros’ breast to his chin and kissed him roughly, his tongue seeming to suck the air from Pietros’ lungs. He began to grow faint from the gladiator’s attentions.

His hips moved absent his control and the hand fell from his chin to slap his ass. Barca’s angle was better and he smiled against Pietros’ lips as Pietros wailed and clenched tight. The next thrust had him coming and he tried to yank himself away to prolong his pleasure.

“Do not fucking dare.” Barca bit the crest of Pietros’ ear as he yanked his hips back into place. “Find pleasure as you like. I would see you faint from my cock before dawn’s rise.”

Pietros indulged him a moment later after Barca resumed the pace he liked; the hand at his chest twisted one of Pietros’ dark nipples, the other moved from ass to cock, stroking him until a thin dribble trickled down Barca’s knuckles. Pietros kicked his legs uselessly as Barca continued to stroke, attempting to milk him dry.

He made helpless noises until his lover was satisfied and released his hold.

Barca unsheathed himself a moment later. A man of rare stamina in contrast to Pietros’ sensitive body, it would take much longer for him to find his first release. Pietros was utterly limp as Barca turned him so he was laying on his back and he pressed sloppy, tender kisses to the pleasure soaked skin of Pietros’ chest, neck and cheeks.

They stroked each other lightly in this quiet moment.

Barca tugged his hands through Pietros’ puffy curls while Pietros mapped Barca’s scars, each one familiar and beloved. It was at once an eternity and all too soon when Barca repositioned his hips, cock still heavy with desire.

Pietros’ arms were taken and wrapped around Barca’s neck. He was duly surprised as it was rare that Barca did not take him from behind. He smiled as Barca’s hair tickled his bare skin. “You would gaze at me while we take our pleasure?”

Normally Barca would dismiss such sentiments as the idylls of foolish youth but perhaps the wine had made him a little indulgent. There was a rare, genuine smile that crossed his lips only too briefly.

“I seek assurance that all other thought and feeling are chased from mind…save the feeling of my cock inside you.”

“A feeling I favor…above all others.”

 

Nasir watched as Pietros was hauled away, feeling a twinge of apology for Pietros’ hips and whichever unfortunate fuck was bedding near Barca’s room. He could not dwell too long on the misfortunes of others as it soon became very clear that he would also not be escaping the night unscathed.

The arm already around his waist tightened and Agron hoisted Nasir up by his waist so that he was dangling an inch off the ground. Feats of strength such as this only served to heighten his arousal and Agron sucked in breath as Nasir twisted in attempt to brush his hips against something. _Anything_.

“You seek to enflame me?”

“Hardly necessary.” Nasir laughed, nuzzling his face into whatever bit of Agron’s skin was easily available. “Slightest spark will bring desire to inferno.”

Agron narrowed his bright green eyes and Nasir rolled his hips and whimpered as a finger slipped beneath the waist of his trousers. Agron made a satisfied noise as his middle finger found the tip of Nasir’s cock and rubbed it in quick circles until the head was wet.

German, guttural and lascivious, rang out across the temple grounds, as Agron carried Nasir past their view. Agron speaking German always stirred something in Nasir; the savagery of the sounds made him want Agron to throw him against the nearest wall and fuck him senseless as he growled in German.

Agron and Nasir had taken a tiny alcove of their own, far from prying eyes, as Agron did not care for anyone’s eyes upon them when they were making love. Agron simply collapsed to their bedding, half-cradling half-crushing Nasir under his enormous frame.

Nasir sighed in contentment as a hard, muscular thigh pressed between his legs.

“Do you stand displeased with me?” Nasir asked. He stroked Agron’s short, scruffy hair and stubbled chin as drunken hands rubbed his nipples and hips and the growing curves in his clothes.

Agron’s lips found delight in Nasir’s throat and Nasir tossed his head back to allow ease of access. “Mmmm?” Agron asked in confusion as he found a rare patch of skin that had not been suckled to his satisfaction.

“For— _oh_ —laying lips on Pietros?”

Agron’s jealousy was legendary and Nasir was surprised that he did not seem at all perturbed. “I have concern…I hold knowledge now why Nemetes welcomes Saxa kissing Belesa.”

“You compare me to Saxa?” Nasir giggled at the dissimilar comparison; he, a Syrian, small and dark and tempered, while she was wild and untamed with hair like liquid gold and the skills in battle to best most men. Agron smiled into Nasir’s collarbone, kissing at the scars there.

“You bring greater delight.”

“You are drunk!” Nasir laughed as Agron aimed to kiss him and missed, their heads knocking together. His second attempt found its’ mark and Nasir found his bottom lip clamped firmly between Agron’s teeth.

Hands fell to waists and the two of them yanked at their clothing until Agron was naked and Nasir was only clad in Agron’s tattered jacket. Though his eyes could not stay focused, he looked at Nasir in that dreamy, hungry way of his that made Nasir feel like the most worshipped man in all of the Roman Empire.

Normally their lovemaking was wild and heated but Agron in the company of wine was torturously gentle.

He pressed his palms flat on Nasir’s dark chest and stroked him carefully. Nasir closed his eyes and let himself feel the beloved touch. His mouth opened in a silent gasp as thumbs pressed his nipples down and rubbed them in lazy circles; he could practically feel Agron smiling at the sight.

From there, the hands traced the planes of his muscles, the outlines of his scars, the crests of his hipbones. And since Agron liked it when Nasir cried out, every kiss to his torso between this gentle exploration had him moaning. His breath hitched as Agron trailed his tongue very close to the patch of dark hair at his hips and his whole body twitched as warm fingers wrapped around his cock.

Nasir opened his eyes in time to see Agron raise his lips to Nasir’s cock and kiss the tip. His tongue flicked out to taste and Nasir whined at the feeling.

Despite his position of power, Agron adored sucking cock and made every excuse to lap Nasir dry. Nasir was beyond arguing the degradation of the act with him and simply allowed his lover to do as he liked. Agron spent most nights buried between his legs.

Nasir gave a sharp whimper as Agron swallowed his cock whole and began to suck intently with a hot, wet mouth. Nasir draped one leg over Agron’s massive shoulder, while the other was pressed firmly to the side so that Nasir’s legs were opened as wide as possible.

He could not possibly protect his modesty in such a position.

Agron took full advantage of the fact. His mouth was seemingly endless and Nasir bucked his hips as he liked. Whenever Agron traced the lines of Nasir’s cock with his tongue or sucked with intent, Nasir moaned deep in his chest and arched his back.

“Agron… _Agron_.” He gripped the tips of Agron’s hair, which only served to push his cock deeper in the warm hollows of Agron’s throat. “I cannot…hold it…”

Agron closed his eyes, neatly ignoring Nasir’s warning, and continued at his leisure. Nasir’s moans became sharp whines and he tossed his head back as pleasure washed over him in bursts. His heel dug deep for purchase in the muscles of Agron’s back, but Agron did not move his lips and let Nasir spill down his throat.

Clever tongue lapped the aftershocks from him and Agron made sure Nasir saw him swallow. _Cheeky bastard._

Agron kissed the tip of Nasir’s cock. “You succumb quickly when deep in your cups.”

“Finally…your big mouth put to good use…” Nasir smiled down at Agron and stroked the sweat damp hair from his forehead. Agron rested his chin on Nasir’s stomach and grinned at him. “I am awash in delight of you…and only you.”

“Fetch oil and discover the extent of my delight.”

“We are almost finished with this.” Nasir slurred holding their store of oil aloft. “Our reserves may not last the rest of the night with your appetites…We will have to borrow more from Barca…unless he stands displeased with me.”

“As you looked this night…” Agron shook his head as if to try and clear it and he rubbed his cock hard against Nasir’s leg, “not even the god would find disfavor in you…If we run dry of oil…” he moved up so his lips were at Nasir’s temple, “I will be forced to coax you open with fingers and tongue.”

Nasir was so flustered that he nearly spilled the oil all over the bed.

Agron slicked his fingers and began to finger Nasir gently; the kisses deepening until Nasir could not even think. Agron dominated every sense and he could only hold on for his life.

It was too sweet, too soft. Usually Agron was a whirlwind of desire: biting and thrusting and claiming with his remaining lust from battle. But the wine had softened him. His rough fingers massaged with slow precision, his large body was a vice that prevented Nasir from rocking as fast as he liked, and his free hand lightly scratched Nasir’s sensitive scalp. This pace was more torture than if Agron had taken him swiftly against a wall.

“ _Agron_! Agron…please!” Nasir gasped as the fingers inside of him twisted cleverly. “ _Please…_ ” His voice came out in a desperate plea.

Agron smiled as he kissed him again. “So eager for my cock?”

“Are your eyes…not in working order?” Nasir moaned.

Agron laughed in one quick bark and kissed Nasir quickly before rolling Nasir onto his side and taking up place behind him. Nasir never felt safer than in these moments: when his fearsome Agron was behind him, holding him close and warm, his arms and back acting as a shield against all evils of the outside world.

Nasir helpfully hooked one leg over Agron’s hip to provide ease of access as Agron molded himself tight to Nasir’s back. He felt something hot slip between his legs and jerked his hips back for the want of it.

“ _Easy_ …” Agron murmured, running his hand down Nasir’s flank.

One arm crossed his chest to hold him in place and Agron eased himself into Nasir. Nasir gasped when he was filled and his toes curled at the delicious feeling of it. Agron made a noise somewhere between a growl and a moan.

“Is it imagining,” Nasir leaned over so he could lightly bite at Agron’s throat, “or does your cock grow in size with each passing day?” His last words were almost bitten off as the hips behind him settled even deeper and brushed the parts of his insides that made him shudder.

Agron groaned. “You need not heighten my desires. I already am undone from the want of you.”

Nasir would laugh but another smooth thrust had him gasping and hissing in turns. Surely such delight was surely blessed by the gods.

Agron buried his face in Nasir’s nape and held tight to temper himself. His hips moved slow and shaky as if he were savoring every thrust, his muscles were tight and it wasn’t long before Agron’s skin became slick with sweat.

Nasir pushed his feet into their blankets in attempt to force Agron deeper and sate the throbbing in his hips, but Agron held him firm and the pace continued at his liking.

Nasir felt his arousal coming to a head when Agron began to whisper compliments and words of love into the sensitive skin of his neck. He extolled Nasir’s skill in battle, his intelligence, and spoke adoringly of his dark hair and fine skin and sweet gaze or…at least Nasir assumed such was the case as Agron’s drunkenness and arousal had him slipping into German whenever Nasir clenched tight around him. And Nasir responded in kind though his worship was in tracing the lines of Agron’s muscle, of presenting his neck to be collared in bites and kisses, of cries that assured Agron he was a god in these sheets, Nasir’s heart and body a simple offering in response for pleasures given.

The cries were fraying his gladiator’s self-control and they became helplessly sharp as Agron’s hips slapped against his ass. Agron’s name became an endless prayer on his lips.

Agron’s cock brushed the spot inside of him that had him writhing and begging. He was so damn close he could cry for the want of release. He would reach down to sate himself if Agron had not been holding him mostly immobile.

Despite his newfound strength and skills in battle, Nasir was no match for Agron and his struggles would show more results against iron shackles.

“ _Agron please_!”

“A…little more…” Agron begged of him and Nasir dug nails into the muscular thigh behind him as Agron gripped the base of his cock, his firm hand denying the completion of pleasure.

Nasir wailed as Agron seemed to swell inside of him; each thrust gained speed and betrayed Agron’s state and Nasir felt as though he might split in two from the intensity of it all.

The twitching inside of Nasir gave Agron away and Nasir hissed the moment his cock was released. The next time Agron pushed into him, Nasir’s pleasure crested and he hissed Agron’s name between clenched teeth. His whole body coiled tight and Agron swore before his hips shuddered and he spilled hot into Nasir.

The shudders of sweet aftermath rippled from Nasir’s hips through Agron’s body as the two of them remained stiff with pleasure.

It was Agron who uncoiled first, nearly crushing Nasir as he fell limp on top of him. His cock remained firmly in its’ place, as they both liked, in preparation for their next round of arousal.

Though the larger body of his lover pinned him tight to their bedding, Nasir was consumed with delight. Agron pressed soft kisses to his hair and his brow, that clever tongue licking perspiration from his temples.

“I tremble for the want of you.” Agron whispered.

Nasir treasured that Agron was so sweetly honest in their quiet moments together. He kissed Agron’s beloved hands and turned his head to meet that green gaze he loved so much.

“Then I would see you tremble the whole night.”

Agron grinned.

 

Nasir moved around the next morning very gingerly.

The slight pain in his head from too much drink paled in comparison to the throbbing ache in his hips and lower back. Never had Agron ridden him so hard for so long. He felt as if he were a piece of washing: wrung out of all liquid and left to languish boneless and prone in the sun.

Still, he bore the bruises and love bites and scratches and limpness with a smug sort of honor. As if he dared for anyone to boast they were as loved as thoroughly as he was.

There were a few precious jugs of wine left and Nasir had tasked himself with stashing them away, out of sight before Gannicus was roused and polished off the rest. Nasir found a secluded old alcove that would keep the jugs fresh for months and would allow them to have a surprise in the future.

He had finished moving the last of them into place when he heard someone approaching from behind.

“Nasir?”

Despite Nasir’s conviction that no one’s body had been so devoutly worshipped as his own the previous night, Pietros looked as though he too had been fucked within an inch of his life.

His lips were swollen to fullness, his eyes red from lack of sleep, and he too walked as if Barca was still deep inside of him. Nasir couldn’t help but notice that Pietros was unusually clad only in a small waist wrap to better show off the circular bite marks and violet finger marks that wrapped around his arms and thighs. His smile was small but pleasantly victorious.

“Pietros?” Nasir smiled, “You too?”

Pietros hobbled over to him, overlooking their secret cache of wine. “Barca admits that the sight of us in each other’s arms had enflamed him to lust previously unknown.” The blush on his cheek was indicative enough that Nasir could imagine Barca showed Pietros said heights for hours on end. “And Agron?”

“I believe he held similar sentiments.” Nasir responded lightly.

“The thoughts remained unimagined to me,” Pietros moved closer to offer assistance, “that so possessive a man as my Barca could be so easily swayed to lust at the sight of your pleasing form in my arms.” His ears colored as though Barca’s rough whispers still haunted him there.

Nasir grinned at the sight. “I too thought Agron so jealous to kill a man who laid hand on me. And yet he hesitated to pull me from your side.”

“I am lovely enough to sway a man’s nature then?”

“And more!” Nasir laughed. “For you fuck a god!”

“And yet the gods kneel before us!” Pietros laughed in reply as he and Nasir stretched a ragged cloth over their secret bounty. “With our cocks in their mouths. That we should inspire them to such glories after simple kisses.”

Nasir was joking, lighthearted. “Gladiators are simple in that respect. If such kisses could enflame them so, I can only imagine their worship if they were to find us close to fucking.”

Pietros gave a little gasp and Nasir felt it too.

He could not help but imagine that green fire that caught hold in Agron’s eyes when he was truly in a state, when his teeth claimed Nasir’s bottom lip with hungry enthusiasm, when his hips made it clear that Nasir would not be moving properly for a week. And he felt arousal burn him hot as the brand on his flank.

When he met Pietros’ wide eyes, it was clear he had entertained a similar thought, and he crossed his long legs.

Unbidden, Nasir’s eyes darted to the wine.

Pietros had a cup in his hand before he even knew what he was searching for.

One cup to have their breath taste of wine. Mira and Saxa to send Barca and Agron on some errand down a very specific hall of the temple. The two of them running quickly to position, placing bloom in the cheeks and gasp on their breath as if they had been locked in passionate embrace for hours.

And Barca and Agron grinned like wolves: wide, white and hungry, at the bait so cleverly set out for them.

 


End file.
